


i hate accidents except when we went from friends to this

by flashlightinacave, magnetichearts



Series: in any version of reality, i'd find you and i'd choose you [5]
Category: Never Have I Ever (TV)
Genre: "platonic" makeout sessions, Angst, Banter, Bickering, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Non-Linear Narrative, Pining, Teasing, also she did nOT fail orgo!, and it loves paper rings, bhargavi is ignoring her two papers due next week, bhargavi would like to say she's sorry for how messy they are, but in her defense she had 3 midterms in 2 weeks so, cause only real friends kiss each other, cause we share a brain, childhood friends to pining friends to enemies to pining enemies to pining friends to lovers, go her!, happy birthday rose sdfkjhfdsjkh, here y'all go, honestly it's more like, i promise it's not as convoluted as it sounds, leila would like to say she is sorry for genetics banter, oh also like duh, oh i forgot the most obvious tag lOL, oh my god and, oh my god yeah this is for you, ok these tags have nothing to do with the fic we'll shut up now, that's part of the appeal s o, the product of like, these tags are a mess guys blame bhargavi for that, this lyric lives in our heads rent free btw, this was like studying for her, three weeks of work because we had to mine time whenever we got it, well actually it is but like, yeah ok anyways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26920798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashlightinacave/pseuds/flashlightinacave, https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetichearts/pseuds/magnetichearts
Summary: Ben leans back in his seat, crossing his arms. “Just spit out, David.”“I need you to be my fake boyfriend!”Ben’s eyes widen and his mouth falls agape. “What?” he breathes.Devi steps closer to his desk. “Look, it’s not my first choice either, but believe me, it’s purely tactical. I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend until everyone stops gossiping about me, and about how I’m still hung up on Paxton.”Ben frowns. “I’m sorry, let me get this straight. You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend… so people stop gossiping about you and Paxton?”or; devi asks ben to be her fake boyfriend. it would be easy, except for the fact that he used to be her best friend, and now he's not(title from "paper rings" by taylor swift)
Relationships: Ben Gross/Devi Vishwakumar
Series: in any version of reality, i'd find you and i'd choose you [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010919
Comments: 9
Kudos: 111





	i hate accidents except when we went from friends to this

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peterpan_in_neverland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterpan_in_neverland/gifts).



> ......h i
> 
> yeah so this happened but like we know none of you are complaining so like, yeah. hope you like it, but most especially, we hope you like it rose! we love you so much and we hope you have the best birthday ever! you are one of the most talented people we know so we decided we had to team up and give you something really amazing for your birthday, because you definitely deserve it. you are awesome and amazing, and we love you! happy birthday, from the both of us! ❤️❤️❤️❤️
> 
> just a note: the flashbacks are written in a non-linear style, so like, if they're a bit confusing, they're kinda of meant to be. hope that's ok with you guys!
> 
> also leila would once again like to inform everyone she did _not_ fail orgo and we should all be very proud of her

Devi wonders if she’s been cursed so all she can hear about… is _him._

She broke up with Paxton two weeks ago— _yes_ , she broke up with _him_ —and she really is trying to move on, but hearing about your ex every five seconds does not make that an easy task.

When she broke things off with him two weeks ago, it seemed their relationship had run its natural course. It was pretty amicable as breakups go, and as much as the dramatic side of Devi wanted to slam a door in her ex’s face, her breakup with Paxton was neither the time nor place.

Residual feelings, is what she chalks it off as. Paxton was her first relationship, her first love, and he taught her a lot, but she isn’t desperately heartbroken over him or anything.

In all honesty, she mourns losing her friendship with him more than she does the actual romantic relationship—because while their breakup may have been amicable, Devi certainly isn’t quite yet mature enough to be friends with her ex.

As expected, Paxton moved on pretty quickly, not that Devi cared all that much, they were no longer together, and she dumped him so he could do whatever he wanted. 

Of course, the rumour mill at school seems to have twisted what happened between her and Paxton in a million directions that are increasingly far from the truth.

One such example is this: the idea that she is hung up on him.

Just because Devi isn’t ready, and quite frankly doesn’t _want to_ (dating is exhausting) throw herself into another relationship, that doesn’t mean she’s hung up on Paxton. So it’s infuriating that everyone is convinced that she is.

It’s so all-consumingly enraging that she finds herself storming up to Eleanor and Fabiola that morning. “I can’t fucking believe it!”

Eleanor glances at her with concern. “Uh oh.”

The same concern is mirrored in Fabiola’s expression. “Can’t believe what?”

“I can’t believe they think I’m hung up on Paxton, when I’m the one who broke up with _him!”_ She balls her hands into fists and clenches her jaw, so tightly that it hurts. “Does no one at our school know that?”

Fabiola places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You did date for six months, Devi. It’s okay if you are a bit hung up on him.”

She knows what Fabiola is doing, and she appreciates it, she does, but she’s so, so _sick_ of this. So, so sick of the narrative being spun that she is heartbroken, that she had no say, no choice, no power in what happened, especially when the whole thing _was_ her choice. “I’m not!” she snaps.

She immediately feels bad for snapping at her friend. “Sorry,” she says more quietly. “I know you’re just trying to help.”

Eleanor hums. “I know you’re mad, Devi, but some of the theories of… what happened between the two of you are fucking hilarious.”

Devi groans, burying her face in her hands. “Oh, god.”

“That’s true,” Fabiola agrees. “My personal favourite is that you smashed every single window in his house.”

“I didn’t even slam a door!”

“No, no, no,” Eleanor says, shaking her head. “That one is absolutely nothing compared to the rumour that he cheated on you with Priyanka Chopra.”

Devi frowns, arching an eyebrow. “Is Priyanka Chopra the only Indian celebrity these people know?”

“Oh,” Fabiola says, eyes lighting up the same way they do when she wins a robotics competition. “There’s also the rumour that you spiked his sports drink to make him fail his next swim meet.”

Eleanor snickers. “As well as the one that he’s been sabotaging your grades, so you two could be in the same classes.”

“Okay,” Devi says, crossing her arms. “You both know those are ridiculous.”

Fabiola smirks, fingers drumming against her notebook. “Someone said that you were just using Paxton to get close to his sister and get her clothes.”

Devi snorts. “Okay, that one is by far the most accurate. Have you guys _seen_ Rebecca’s wardrobe?”

Eleanor sighs faux dramatically. “Or I heard that your mom tore you two apart and now you’re pining for one another from afar.”

“Quite frankly, I’m not sure my mom even knows his name.”

“You know,” Eleanor says, wiggling her eyebrows. “They say that the easiest way to get over someone is to get _under_ someone else.” She grins, wide and bright, shooting Devi a lascivious wink.

Devi rolls her eyes. “That’s disgusting, El. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

Fabiola sighs. “Even though I wouldn't put it that way, El has a point, Devi.”

“Not that you need to get over him, you can take as long as you need for that,” Eleanor reassures her. “But dating someone else would stop the rumours from flying.”

“But I don’t actually want to date someone,” Devi protests, running a hand through her hair. “You guys _know_ how mature high school boys are.” 

Eleanor hums. “Just a suggestion.”

And what a stupid suggestion it is, Devi thinks.

Sure, it has some merit, if she jumps into a relationship, it would be impossible for the school to continue gossiping about how she’s hung up over Paxton, but the idea of actually finding someone she’d want to date sounds exhausting. The idea of dating someone mediocre only to dumb them in a week sounds equally awful, and could quite easily be used to only reinforce the school’s rumour mill.

But Devi's pretty smart, she knows she is, so she decides she's gotta do _something_ about this Paxton situation. So, she decides she needs a fake boyfriend. Someone who she can pretend to date, for a contractually obligated period of time, just until everyone stops caring about her private and personal life. She needs someone who’d be willing to do this for appearances only, but also someone who she can trust wholeheartedly.

And just like that, with that justification, the answer to her dilemma is so, so simple.

She cranes her neck and spots Ben over at his locker.

(yet so, so hard)

For a split second, Devi wishes she were young again. Wishes—wishes that things were easy, like the way they were when Ben smiled at her, wishes that they were friends ag— 

No. She doesn't.

Still, despite all of that, despite how fucking much he hurt her, she trusts him. She thinks a part of her will always, implicitly trust him, even if she doesn’t want to, even if she never wants to again.

(that’s not true, more than anything, she wants to, more than anything she wants to regain his tru—)

No. That’s not—that’s not important. She doesn’t.

She just needs to convince him to help her, that’s all. Nothing more. Never anything more. Not agai—

“Devi!”

She’s torn out of her thoughts by Eleanor snapping her fingers.

Devi blinks a few times. “Huh?”

Eleanor frowns at her, worry swimming in her eyes. “You completely zoned out there a bit, are you okay?”

Devi shakes her head. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Fabiola’s concerned expression mirrors Eleanor. They both seem completely unconvinced, exchanging a glance before turning back to her. “Are you sure?”

“I promise you guys, I’m fine,” Devi reassures them. “I was thinking about Eleanor’s suggestion,”

“Oh, forget I said that!” Eleanor blurts out. “It was a stupid idea. Not only should you take all the time you need to get over Paxton, there’s not many guys at this school—if any—who are worth your time.”

“Actually, it’s a really good idea,” Devi says. “I think I’m gonna do it.”

(with a few slight modifications, she thinks)

Eleanor’s mouth falls agape. “Really?”

Fabiola snorts. “I thought it was impossible to convince you to change your mind once it was made up.”

Devi smiles, a little sly. “I guess my mind wasn’t quite as made up as either of you two thought.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder and turns on her heel. “Now come on, we don’t want to be late for history.”

She feels a lot better about everything now that she has a genius plan.

* * *

_Her stomach twists when she stands at her locker, fingers clutching her backpack._

_She’s been waiting for Ben for twenty minutes, and he still hasn’t shown up. Hasn’t said a word to her in any of her classes, hasn’t so much as glanced in her direction._

_The seed planted a few weeks ago blooms, pushing up through the soil, searching for the sun. She struggles to breathe, struggles to take in air._

_The first bell for the day rings, and she has another three minutes to cross the hallway and enter first period._

_In the years she and Ben have known each other, in the eight years they have traded secret handshakes and whispered jokes and covert smiles, he has never been late like this. Never been this distant._

_And she wants to be angry at him, but instead she is just—just worried about him. And she wishes she were mad._

_Devi swallows down the sharp glass cutting at her throat and walks into homeroom, ignoring how this has been the second time in as many months he has been far away from her._

_(she hopes they are not orbiting away from each other. for as long as she can remember, she and ben have been in each other’s gravity)_

_She props her hand up on her chin and stares at the wall, bored out of her mind, when out of the corner of her eye, she seems someone walk in. Turning her head, she sees it’s Ben, and despite all of the emotions warring in the pit of her stomach (atomic bombs and rifles and a whole battle of anger hurt and sadness) she smiles, can’t help it, because she has always smiled when it comes to him, and then Ben’s eyes lock with hers._

_For a moment the sadness and the anger melts away, and her heart flutters in her chest, like it’s prone to do around him now, when his blue, blue eyes lock on hers. Blue like the lagoons of the sea and like the shards of sky she sees through emerald leaves. Serene and peaceful and beautiful._

_And then his eyes slide over her, like water sliding over the pebbles in a stream, wearing them down, and he turns away, going to sit down in his seat._

_The battle intensifies, and the seed blooms into a flower._

* * *

Her plan may be a stroke of genius, but it turns out, the execution is fraught.

Realistically, she doesn’t know whether she’s allowed to call it “execution” quite yet, given she hasn’t even asked Ben. Aside from their usual in class competition, she hasn’t said a single word to him.

(she misses when she could talk to him about everything and anything and he was easier to talk to than anyon—)

No. She absolutely does not. 

She’s been debating how to broach the subject for the past few days, when her patience finally snaps. She happens to spot Ben at the exact same moment she hears another gossip filled whisper and suddenly, she can’t take it anymore. She walks up to him, grabs him by the elbow, and drags him into an empty classroom, making sure to shut the door behind her.

“Devi, w—what the hell?”

She doesn’t have time for any of this. “Look, you’re going to fucking help me with this or I am going to tell everyone you cried the first time you watched _Finding Nemo.”_

Ben simply smirks. “Resorting to blackmail, David?” He crosses his arms. “I guess that’s all your single brain cell can comprehend.”

Devi balls her fists as she opens her mouth bite out a witty retort, but she promptly shuts it when she realizes that he’s not worth her time. “You know what,” she says, “I don’t have time to deal with this. Are you going to help me or not?”

Ben drums his fingers on one of the desks. “It would be useful, David,” he says, with a scowl, “if you told me what exactly you want my help with.”

She hates that—that he scowls at her when he sees her, she hates that he doesn’t _smile._

She hates that Ben doesn't smile at her like he used to, doesn't smile bright and white and free, like he'd only used to around _her,_ doesn't seem to radiate with joy at the sight of her like he had when they were young. 

No, she doesn't hate that. She doesn't. 

(part of her does, and what she hates more than that is she's never really stopped missing him)

Devi begins to pace around the room. “It might be easier if you sit down.”

“I don’t know why you thi—”

She interrupts him. “Just, sit down, Ben.”

Ben opens his mouth to say something, but then promptly shuts it, taking a seat at a desk. His eyes are on hers, bright and intense, wholly captivated, and Devi is unsure how—how to deal with the weight of his gaze so wholly, so focused on her in a way it hasn’t been in _years._

Devi inhales, then lets out a breath, shaky as the sea swirling in a cyclone.

She continues to pace, trying to find the words, trying to figure out exactly how she should ask him. She doesn’t know how, doesn’t know how, doesn’t know how.

Ben leans back in his seat, crossing his arms. “Just spit out, David.”

“I need you to be my fake boyfriend!”

Ben’s eyes widen and his mouth falls agape. “What?” he breathes.

Devi steps closer to his desk. “Look, it’s not my first choice either, but believe me, it’s purely tactical. I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend until everyone stops gossiping about me, and about how I’m still hung up on Paxon.”

Ben frowns. “I’m sorry, let me get this straight. You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend… so people stop gossiping about you and Paxton?” There’s a certain amount of condescension in his tone that makes Devi’s blood simmer.

“Yes,” she grits out. “I think I made that pretty clear.”

“And why would I do that?” He cocks his head, eyes narrowing. “What’s in this for me?”

(there was a time when ben hadn’t needed a reason to help her, would have done it as easy as breathing, but—)

The truth is, Devi knows there’s nothing in it for him, no reason why Ben should help her, other than the fact she needs him.

(but she lost having him whenever she needed him a long, long time ago)

Instead of saying any of that, she smirks. “You get to tell everyone you’re dating someone as hot as me.”

Ben scoffs. “Nice try, David.” He taps his index finger against the desk. “I need something tangible, I want it in a binding contract.”

Devi lets out an exasperated sigh, growing more desperate by the second. “I'll owe you one, ok? You can decide what it is—within reason, of course—but does that suffice?"

Ben tosses his head back and forth, as if considering her offer, and with each moment of passing silence, Devi grows even more nervous. “No,” he finally says.

Devi scowls. “No?” she repeats. “What the fuck do you want, Gross?”

Ben opens his mouth to say something, probably to tell her exactly what she has to do to convince him, but Devi isn’t having it. She’s tired of tiptoeing around landmines with him. She holds up a hand. “You know what? Forget it, I’ll just find someone else.”

She turns away from him, making her way towards the door. Stupid Ben, of course he couldn’t make this easy for her. Things have never been easy between them, not since—

“Wait.”

Devi spins around and finds Ben is no longer sitting in his seat. He’s standing much, much closer. Heart-stoppingly close. On instinct, she steps back, putting space between them, and pretends not to notice the hurt flickering across his face before it’s replaced with that condescending smirk. 

“I’ll do it.”

Devi arches an eyebrow. “You’ll do it?”

Ben purses his lips, shockingly blue eyes—and they are, perhaps, the one thing that has never changed, in all of these years, the way her heart races whenever his blue eyes are on her—staring at her intently.

“You owe me,” he says, by way of confirmation. “And we need a contract.”

Devi feels her lips quirk up into a smile—and she doesn’t want to smile at him, but she can’t help it, the reaction almost instinctual. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Gross.”

* * *

_It is summer and sickly sweet the first time she even thinks about it._

_Devi is floating on a cloud of cotton candy and cherry lollipops, blissful and content in the way only youth can be. The sun beats down on her, and she sighs, close to falling asleep._

_And then cold water pours onto her face._

_She shrieks instantly, jerking up to see Ben smirking at her. “Ben! Ugh!”_

_“Sorry, David,” he says, although he doesn’t look very sorry at all. “I thought you were asleep.”_

_Devi scowls at him, stepping forward and shoving him. “Asleep? I was enjoying myself in the sun, you jackass.”_

_“On my pool deck, might I add.”_

_“Which I’ve spent enough time on. At this point, it’s practically mine.”_

_Ben rolls his eyes. “Excuse me, do you pay taxes on this house?”_

_“No, and thank god for that,” she snorts, planting her hands on her hips. “I don’t even want to think about how astronomical they would be.”_

_“That’s something only poor people say, David.”_

_Her mouth drops open, offended. “Did you just call me poor?”_

_Ben smirks at her. “So what?”_

_“You’re such an asshole,” she says, smacking him with every word. He doesn’t even try to defend himself, just laughs as he stumbles back. She advances, smacking him again. “Why am I friends with you?”_

_“Cause I’m ridiculously hot and this way you can ogle me covertly?”_

_She rolls her eyes now. “God, you’re full of yourself.”_

_“You’re the one who’s friends with me,” he hums._

_“Shut up,” she laughs, shoving him with both hands, except this time, he catches them._

_“I’m right, aren’t I?” Ben’s smirk is dangerous, coiling in the pit of her stomach like a snake. And then, it grows a bit wider, just a little more crooked, and the snake strikes._

_Devi’s breath catches in her throat for a split second as she looks at him, and for the first time in her life, she considers leaning in closer. Leaning in until their noses brush and—_

_She slams the brakes on that train of thought and tugs herself away from him, smirking to cover up the way her heart hammers. “You wish, Gross.”_

_Ben’s smile just grows, bright and beautiful, and Devi shoves down the part of her that wants to trace it with her fingertips._

_(she can’t want this. not from—not from ben, of all people)_

_She shoves it down and suffocates it, because she can’t risk losing him._

* * *

“The participants will engage in sufficient displays of affection that will be observed upon by the parties to which this farce is being administered to—”

“Wait," Ben interrupts, his eyes comically wide. "You want us to _what?_ ”

She’d walked with Ben over to his house after school, so they could get started on drafting a contract for their fake relationship, but so far it hasn’t been easy, especially not with him shooting down or objecting to every single one of her suggestions. She isn’t going to be letting this one off easy, though, excessive PDA is the easiest way to convince the school of their relationship, and that she is over Paxton.

“You know,” Devi says, counting the points off on her fingers. “PDA, public displays of affection, canoodling, whatever the hell you want to call it.”

Ben winces at her and groans. “Please stop.”

Devi sighs and rolls her eyes so far back she’s surprised they don’t get stuck. “I wouldn’t expect you to know this Gross, given you’re basically a robot, but being in a relationship requires affection.”

Ben crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his seat at his kitchen island. “If I’m a robot, then why did you ask for my help?”

“Simple,” Devi says, as she finishes typing out the sentence on their shared google document. “Because robots are capable of following orders.”

“Oh, is that what I’m doing now?” Ben retorts. “Following orders?”

“Yup.” Devi answers, not even turning towards him. “Of course, that means we’re gonna have to kiss a lot, and we’re going to have to practice.”

“What?” Ben chokes out, his face having turned phenolphthalein pink.

Devi snorts. “Don’t worry if you’re a bad kisser, Gross, I can fake it.”

“I—I’m not a bad kisser!” Ben stammers out.

“Okay, yeah, sure you aren’t.”

“I swear! I’m not!”

“Whatever you say,” Devi sing-songs with a smirk. She reaches out a hand to pat his shoulder condescendingly, before realizing that the action is far too friendly and letting her hand fall limply to her side.

(she misses the casual touches they would exchange as friends, misses his hand in hers on the school playground, misses his arms around her when they were little kids)

She doesn’t, she doesn’t, she doesn’t.

Ben seems to notice and his expression shifts. There’s something akin to regret in his eyes and his voices come out a lot softer than she’s used to. “You know, Devi, just because we—we were friends, it doesn’t mean you have to treat me like I’ve got the plague.”

Devi snaps her head up to him. “Don’t talk about that,” she bites out. She won’t go there, she won’t, not with him, not after what he did.

(the heart is not a bone and thus it can’t be broken, but it is a muscle that can be torn and sprained and ruptured. losing him—leaving him—permanently strained her heart)

Ben sighs. “Are we just going to pretend it never happened?”

Yes. She’d be happy to spend the rest of her life pretending that she and Ben were never friends. It’s easier that way, because thinking about—thinking about what happened between them is something she doesn’t think she’ll ever be strong enough to do. 

(so why does she wish she was stronger?)

“It’s easier that way,” Devi answers, no longer angry, instead just weary, turning her eyes back to her laptop screen. 

She adds another bullet point to their drafted contract, bolded, underlined, emphasized, it’s the first one she’s certain Ben will agree with: _Never talk about the past._

There’s a certain tension that settles in the air between them—like the air before a thunderstorm crackling with dangerous amounts of energy and electricity, like a powder keg that will explode with one wrong move, one wrong word—as they continue to work on the contract, but Ben no longer objects to her suggestions for the contract, and she doesn’t object to his either.

(the red string that ties her and ben together is being pulled incredibly taut, and devi fears what will happen the day that string snaps. or maybe it already snapped, maybe it snapped back in the eighth grade when they—)

She slams her laptop shut—she’s not going there—and turns to face Ben once more. She doesn’t think—she’s so, so tired of thinking about—about everything—she just speaks. “Kiss me.”

Ben’s eyes go wide and his mouth drops agape. He practically leaps out of his seat and backs away. “Excuse me, what?”

Devi completely ignores the shock in his expression and the way his eyes frantically flit across her face. “Yeah,” Devi confirms, pushing herself up out of her seat and walking towards him. “We have to practice if we’re going to convince everyone we’re dating.” She only then realizes how bold her suggestion is and feels a bit unsure, clasping her hands as they begin to shake. She swallows the lump forming in her throat. “Right?”

Ben draws in a shaky breath. “Right.” He nods his head. “Right, yeah, okay… just for—for practice.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, of stillness, between them. It’s stiflingly awkward, and Devi hates it. She clears her throat. “So, are you going to do it or—?

She doesn't get to finish her sentence, because suddenly Ben is cutting her off by pressing his mouth to hers.

Their noses bump, and it’s weird, and painfully awkward. Usually, when she’s kissing someone, Devi knows exactly what to do, lets herself be guided by both the sensation, and by muscle memory. But this? She has no idea what to do in this situation. Doesn’t know whether she should cup his face in her hands or run her hands through his hair. Doesn’t know whether to tug him closer or press a hand to his chest so she can feel his heartbeat. She doesn’t know what to do, so she doesn’t do anything, instead letting her hands hang limply at her sides, as he kisses her tentatively. And that’s the other thing, he’s the one kissing her, she’s so unsure of what she’s supposed to do, of how she’s supposed to kiss him, that she doesn’t kiss him at all.

Eventually, Ben pulls away from her. He tilts his head and frowns at her and then he laughs and she can’t hold back a shiver when his breath grazes her chin. “You were right to suggest we practice.”

For some reason, his statement makes her feel a bit lighter. “I’m always right,” she responds, indignantly.

Ben laughs again, the sound genuine and warm, and god, she missed his laugh, missed making him laugh. He moves one of his hands so it’s cupping her jaw. “Maybe,” he suggests, voice low and quiet, like he’s sharing a secret, “we should practice again?”

She doesn’t dignify that with a verbal response and instead leans up to kiss him once more. It’s still a little weird as she kisses him—lightly, the slightest press of her lips against his—since they still haven’t quite figured out each other’s rhythms. It’s still a little strange the way his eyelashes flutter against her cheek as he kisses her back, equally hesitant, like he’s testing the waters to see if it’s safe. 

Devi pulls away first to meet Ben’s wide, wide eyes. “Um,” she stammers out, heart beginning to drum loudly and confusingly in her chest. His hand is still cupping her jaw, warmth bleeding into her.

Ben smirks in response and it only makes her heart beat faster. “Well, you know what they say, David.” He leans in so close their noses brush, his eyes glinting. “Third time’s the charm.” Then before she can snark back some witty retort, his lips are on hers once more.

It’s a lot less tentative this time, a lot more sure, and Ben angles his head so their lips actually fit together. He kisses her with purpose and intent, and it’s so, so reassuring, and so, so good, that Devi finds herself curling her hand around his neck to draw him in even closer. She kisses back with equal confidence, equal certainty, and it’s no longer awkward at all. He’s forgone testing the waters, throwing himself into the storm. 

His hand that cups her face is warm and soothing, but also sets her aflame, and kissing him she realizes, is like playing with fire.

(the only difference is, as much as she should, she doesn’t care if she gets burned)

His lips are warm, and the hair at the nape of his neck is soft, and she honestly feels like she’s melting into him, the entire surrounding world dropping away. Despite mocking him earlier for likely being a bad kisser, it’s here and now, kissing him, that Devi realizes that he’s not. He’s actually a good kisser. Like, really, really good. Stupid good.

Ben’s lips pressed against hers feels right, stirs a deep contentment in her soul, like this was how it was always supposed to be. And maybe—maybe it’s because when she was younger she always thought her first kiss would be with him and perhaps it hurt her—a part of her she seldom lets herself feel—when it was not.

He eventually pulls away from her, but for Devi the moment ends far too soon, and before she even registers what she’s doing, she’s leaning in for another kiss.

Only before their lips meet, she stops. She blinks, finally coming back to her senses, and only then realizes how close they are standing and coughs as she steps away. 

_What in the hell was she thinking?_

This is _Ben._ The—the boy who had been her partner, her equal, and then nothing. 

(her memories are a battleground littered with landmines, and she never knows which one will be triggered—and when)

“Okay,” she says, voice evidently shaking. “That was some good practice.”

Ben frowns at her. “I—uh—thanks?”

She slips her laptop into her bag and slings it around her shoulder. “I’ll—uh—I’ll see you Monday.” She makes her way towards the door before turning back to him. “Be prepared,” she says before she opens the door and steps outside, shutting it behind her.

Once she’s outside, Devi leans against the door and takes a shuddering deep breath. Once she can finally breathe again, she breaks into a sprint. She runs, runs, runs, as fast as her legs can carry her. Running from her problems, from her feelings, from _Ben,_ is practically coded into her DNA.

(she doesn’t know who she’s running from, this ben, or the one who used to be her friend, and worse than that, she doesn’t even know whether they’re two different people at all)

She wishes, for a brief moment, that she was braver, wishes she knew how to not run away from him. 

But she’s not braver, she’s not stronger, and she knows going against her very genetic nature is a futile, fruitless task.

* * *

_Devi laughs, loud and bright, at Eleanor’s spot on John Mulaney impression, smirking at Fabiola. “Come on, Fab, who do you got?”_

_Fab smirks. “I do an amazing Olivia Benson impression.”_

_“Oh, I love her,” Eleanor chirps, clapping her hands together._

_Devi snorts. “Who doesn’t?”_

_“That’s true,” Eleanor remarks, daintily popping a French fry into her mouth. “I’m sure even Benjamin would be inclin—” she breaks off abruptly, glancing around them. “Where is Benjamin?”_

_The smile slips off of her face as she looks around, a little confused. Ben’s sat with them at lunch for—for forever. She can’t remember a day when he hadn’t, but she’d been so wrapped up in her friends she hadn’t noticed he wasn’t there._

_“I—I don’t know,” Devi stammers. “That’s weird.”_

_“Oh, look,” Fabiola says, pointing. ‘He’s over there with that girl.”_

_Devi feels something drop into her stomach as she twists her head to look in the direction of Fab’s pointed finger, seeing her best friend—_ her _best friend—sitting at a table with another girl._

_Close to her. Like, really close to her, and he laughs, flashing the girl a quick smile before they both turn their heads back to the book on the table. “Who’s that, Devi?”_

_“I don’t know!” she snaps, her heart twisting at the sight. She whirls back around at her friends, ignoring Ben. “Why the fuck would you think I knew?”_

_Fabiola and Eleanor exchange a look. “Uh, cause you’re best friends?” Eleanor suggests._

_Devi stabs at her dahl with her spoon unsuccessfully. “Well, I don’t know who she is, and I don’t give a fuck. I don’t know why he’s sitting with her either,” she hastens to add, seeing Eleanor’s mouth open._

_El’s mouth shuts, and Devi ignores the stone in her stomach, growing heavier and heavier each moment Ben isn’t at her table._

_(that smile he’d given her—that’s_ devi’s _smile. it’s not anyone else’s to take. ben can’t just give it away)_

_But she ignores it. It’s a momentary thing anyways. He’ll come back tomorrow, she’s sure of it._

_(he doesn’t. it takes him a week, and by then, the stone—the seed—has sprouted)_

* * *

The worst part, Devi thinks, about this whole thing isn’t the fireworks she gets whenever Ben kisses her, the way her stomach explodes with feeling at his lips pressed against hers. It’s not the way her heart races whenever he smiles—or smirks—at her. It’s not the way his fingers, curling around hers whenever they’re in the presence of other people, always seems to steady her. 

(it’s not even the way she lies awake at night, wishing, beyond hope, beyond reason, that this was real) 

It’s the way Ben makes her laugh. 

Because it reminds her of a time when he would coax laughter out of her as easy as breathing, of a time when she spent more of her time with him laughing and smiling then anything else, of a time when her smile would be matched by one of his own and her heart would race and—

It’s the worst part of this whole thing, because it makes a part of her that she locked away tight ache. It makes a part of her feel, a part of her she doesn’t _let_ feel. 

It punches her in the gut at a party in late March, about a month into her and Ben’s relationship.

Fake. Relationship. 

She is standing in the corner of a room, chatting with a girl from her physics class, when Ben walks up to her, pressing his hand against the small of her back. 

She melts into his touch—and it is only fractional, so she lets herself count it as a victory, turning to him, plastering the adoring smile on her face. 

It’s getting easier and easier to pull off, and she attributes it to practice. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, drawing her a little closer to him. Devi tries not to shiver as his breath ghosts her cheek. “It’s getting late. Want to head home soon?” 

Devi pulls her phone out at glances at the time. “It’s only 10:15.” 

Ben furrows his brows. “Doesn’t your mom want you home by 10:30?” 

The words slip out before she can stop them. “Maybe if I was twelve,” she snorts. “My curfew now is 11.” 

She freezes, scared that Ben will run off. She’s broken the point on the contract, the one they’ve treated as paramount to everything else, because his touch makes her brain fry, and her skin buzz. 

Ben blinks at her for a second, seemingly in shock, and then, to her relief, his mouth curls up in a smirk. “Pardon me, David. I must be wrong, considering you have the maturity of a twelve year old.” 

She snorts, taking a sip of her drink. “At least I’m not the one of us who has the maturity of a five year old.” 

“Please, David,” he drawls. Ben takes her drink and tosses the half-full cup in the trash, and she scowls at him, although he’s probably right to stop her, considering it had tasted of beer and fruit punch, a _horrid_ combination. “I’m like, at _least_ a ten year old.” 

She giggles, then, a little shocked he’s playing along. “The dumbest ten year old I’ve ever seen.” 

“Are you kidding me!” he exclaims, irrationally insulted, like he always is. “I’m like, the Mozart of ten year olds.” 

Devi pats his chest mockingly. “You’re not even the Vivaldi.” 

“Oh, that’s a _low_ blow, and you know it.” 

She grins at him, ignoring—choosing to ignore, really—how similar this had been to their gentle ribbing when they were friends. 

(when they were friends, when they were friends, when they were friends. it’s a phrase that plays on repeat in her mind, and she’s finding it harder and harder to turn it off) 

“Really,” she smirks. “Be happy, Ben. At least I didn’t compare you to a country artist.” 

Ben frowns at her. “But you chose _Vivaldi.”_

“Oh my god, Ben,” she groans, rolling her eyes. “Only you would be insulted about that.” 

He quirks an eyebrow, mirth dancing in his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

She shifts under the weight of his gaze, ducking her head and clearing her throat. She can’t just—run away, they’re still around people. They have to keep this up. 

(that’s the only reason she stays. the only reason) 

“Just something else that’s uniquely you,” she murmurs, wincing as the words fall out. 

“Hmm,” he hums, and there’s something in the cadence of his voice that makes her look up, and the way he is looking at her—no, the way he is _studying_ her makes her breath hitch in her throat, like she’s a stupid fucking—romance novel heroine. 

“What else is uniquely me?” 

Devi swallows, running her tongue over her lips, and she doesn’t miss the way Ben’s gaze drops to her mouth. “The way you annoy me.” She smirks, although it’s performative. “No one else does it like you.” 

“Interesting,” he murmurs, and then, he leans forward and kisses her. 

He tastes of spearmint gum, and Devi’s always hated it, always chosen something else like watermelon or bubblegum as a flavor, but on Ben, it’s addictive, and she bites back the whimper that threatens to claw itself up from her throat when his hands sweep down her sides, tracing her torso, settling at her waist, tugging her closer. 

(it’s unfair, how good he is at this. playing the adoring boyfriend up, with lingering touches and inside jokes and a knowing smirk that settles itself over his face whenever she snaps at him. it’s unfair, and she hates it, because sometimes she slips into the facade of letting herself be convinced it’s real before she’s pulled back to harsh reality. it is like she is settling herself in the bliss of darkness, of ignorance, before a flashlight is shined in her eyes, forcing her to confront the truth)

Ben pulls back then, just the slightest bit, and his lips brush hers as he speaks. “Is that another thing that’s uniquely me?”

“Shut the fuck up,” she mutters, before curling her hand around the nape of his neck and tugging him back. 

Kissing Ben is...indescribable, really. The first few times were awkward, of course, they’d never done it before and it was genuinely so _strange,_ but the learning curve was steep, and it had been way too easy for her to get the hang of it. Way too easy for her to keep kissing him once she started. 

It’s a crime, really, that his lips are so soft and he knows exactly where to touch her, the pressure points of her body that make her melt against him, that he’s criminally good at making her head spin and feel like she’s floating, untethered to everything but him. The whole world narrows when he kisses her, thousands of square feet condensing into them. 

Devi sighs against his mouth when his hand sweeps from her waist to press against her back, pulling her closer, and she can just feel the ghost of his lashes against her cheek. Part of her thinks it’s rather idiotic of them to be making out in plain sight, a barely sequestered corner of a packed party—but isn’t that the whole point of this? 

And, well, frankly, she can’t really process much thought when Ben bites on her lip gently before sweeping his tongue into her mouth. She reaches up, carding her hands through his hair, clutching at it and kissing him back just as fiercely. 

Suddenly, she feels her back hit something, and she almost pulls away from him with a gasp before she realizes Ben’s just pressed her against the wall gently, his hand still at her back, crushing her against him. 

Whatever. She doesn’t care where they are—even though she kind of likes this. She just wants to keep kissing him. 

Her friends, naturally, have other plans. 

“Uh, _guys?”_

Devi’s more than content to ignore her friends and lose herself in Ben, but he has other plans, pulling away from her slowly. Devi’s control nearly snaps, and she almost tells him to ignore them and get back to what he was doing—before she regains control of herself, and she’s a little horrified. 

Ben doesn’t turn to look at them, breath puffing onto her skin, and it sends shivers down her spine, even though it’s warm. “What?”

Devi can practically _hear_ Eleanor roll her eyes. “We literally called you like, three times before you resurfaced.” 

“Disgusting,” Fabiola quips. 

“Yeah, get a room.” 

“Not a very inventive insult,” Devi says, ignoring the way her lip gloss has been—brutalized, really, reaching up to swipe an errant bit of it off of her lower lip. She finally turns her eyes to her friends, to see they have matching exasperated expressions on their faces. “Come on, El, I know you have better material than that.” 

Eleanor scoffs at her. “You guys are such an easy target, you’re not worth it.” 

Ben rolls his eyes, slipping an arm around her waist and tugging her close. She stands stiff and straight, determined to ignore the temptation to melt into him—before realizing that keeping herself separate from him would probably be strange to her friends. She relaxes. A bit, not much. 

“And what, exactly, makes us an easy target?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow. 

“The fact that you’re perpetually making out with each other,” Eleanor drawls, inspecting her nails. “What do you think, Fab, good color?” 

Fabiola peers at them. “Why did you get flowers?” 

“Cause I like getting them done with a _design,_ duh,” Eleanor says. 

“You should have gotten them in chrome.” 

“Please. As if I could pull off gray tones. You, you definitely could, though.” 

“Um, excuse me?” Devi says. “What do you mean, perpetually making out?” 

Fabiola rolls her eyes now. “This is like, the sixth time we’ve caught you?” 

“Yup.” 

“We’re not perpetually making out!” Ben protests. He glances at Devi, who nods. “Yeah, we’re not!” 

“Tell me why you’re wearing _Date with Destiny_ by Fenty more than my best friend is, then, Benjamin,” Eleanor smirks, tapping at her lips. 

Ben flushes bright red, dragging the back of his hand across his lips. “Whatever. Still doesn’t prove anything. This is an isolated incident.” 

Fabiola snorts. “Uh, no it’s not.” 

Devi crosses her arms, cocking her hip. “Yes, it is.” 

“Sam Wilson’s birthday party,” Eleanor points out. 

Fabiola smirks. “Oh, the party at Regina’s place.”

“What about the double date with Oliver and I to the mall?” 

“The movie theater.” 

“The—” 

“Ok!” Devi says, sure her face is as red as her lipstick. “We get it.” 

“We don’t really care that you two act exactly like horny teenagers,” Eleanor says, a graceful smirk curling at her lips. She shoots Devi a wink. “Just take it to another location.” 

Fabiola pats Ben on the shoulder. “You know what happens if you hurt her,” she says, voice dead serious, and he pales a bit. 

Ben looks like he’s about to faint. “Yeah,” he rasps. 

“Good!” Eleanor chirps, clapping her hands and bouncing up and down a little on her feet. “Fab and I just wanted to let you guys know we were leaving. We’ll see you at school on Monday?” 

Devi exchanges quick hugs with her friends before they vanish into the crowd, and then it’s just her and Ben again. 

She turns to look at him, biting her own lip when she sees a faint streak of red on the corner of his mouth. Before she can stop herself, she’s reaching up and wiping it away with her thumb. 

“What was that for?’ he murmurs. 

“Um,” she chokes out. “You had a little lip gloss on your face.” 

He tilts his head to the side, eyes running over her, and she gets the distinct impression that in the years since she and Ben—stopped, for lack of a less painful word, he’s changed, a bit. 

“I see.” The words are careful and calculated, and she hates that he can be so impassive when she feels like she’s about to shake apart. “You put it there, so you thought you would get rid of it?” He raises an eyebrow, as if to underscore his point. 

“M—maybe,” she stutters. The room feels stifling, too hot, and too much, all of a sudden, and she feels panic clawing at her throat, the desire to run, run, run hot and potent, pulsing at the pit of her stomach. 

So she gives in. “I—need to go.” 

Devi turns around and disappears out the back door before he can say another word, trekking across the yard until she’s across the street on the other side, standing on the sidewalk. She presses a hand to the base of her neck, breathing heavily. “Ok,” she whispers, to herself. “You’re ok.” 

(it is the same thing she had told herself when she came home from her fight—the fight—with ben and ignored everyone, even her father. it is the same thing she told herself when she sat cross legged on her bed and craved for someone to hold her, the day of her father’s funeral. it is the same thing she tells herself now, aching for his fingers, tangled in hers, aching for something she can never have)

(and every time, it has been a lie) 

Devi jumps when she feels a hand land on her shoulder, and she whirls around, ready to fight off anyone who’s dared to touch her, but all of the fight drains out of her when she sees it’s Ben. 

“Hey,” he says, quietly. “Let me drive you home.” 

Devi would protest, would tell him no, but god, she is tired. 

She is so, so tired. Tired of keeping him at an arm’s length for all of these years, tired of hating him—did she ever really hate him?—tired of not being his friend, tired. 

She nods. “Ok.” 

He drives her back silently, as if he can tell she needs to be alone, and Devi wraps her fingers around one another, over and over again, trying to stop her mind from driving herself insane. 

He parks quietly in front of her house, and she’s unsurprised when he walks her to the door. Paxton never had, not once, in all of the partiest she’d been to with him. And there had been a lot. 

Ben has, every time. 

Devi reaches out and rests her hand on the doorknob, turning to him, chewing on her lip. “Thanks.” 

Ben shrugs. “Sure. I don’t get what’s so fun about those parties, but if you like them, we can keep going.” 

Devi smiles, then. “What, watching Trent down six chimichangas in one minute isn’t your idea of a good time?” 

He laughs, shoving his hands into his pockets, and when his eyes lock on hers, she feels a supernova expand in her stomach. 

The yellow of the porchlight should wash him out, should make him look sallow, except he just looks brighter than ever. 

“No, not really.” 

“Let me guess, your idea of a good time is a documentary about Wall Street, right? The benefits of capitalism, perhaps?” she smirks. 

He rolls his eyes. “No, it’s not, although I'm glad to see you see it as such,” he drawls. 

“Then what is it?” she says, raising an eyebrow. 

Ben’s face turns serious then. “I can’t tell you.”

Devi snorts. “Can’t tell me? What, is it some national secret or something? Come on, Gross, live a little.” 

His eyes darken as they bore into hers, and she has never really noticed this—but they are not just one shade of blue. Robin’s egg and navy in a sea of cerulean and forget me not, and they suck her in. 

Her hand on the doorknob shakes. 

“I can’t tell you because it violates the contract if I do.” 

Devi furrows her brows. “Violates the contra—Oh.” 

She stares at him, realization dawning. “Right.” 

He breathes, reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck, and when he ducks his head she can see that the tips of his ears have turned pink. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned anything.” 

“N—no,” she manages. “It’s ok.” She lets out a laugh that sounds strangled to her own ears. “Yeah, probably a good idea on your part.” 

Devi blinks, and then Ben is closer, so close that she could reach out and flatten her palm against his chest and keep her elbow bent, tucked in at her side. “Was it?” 

(no no no) 

Devi swallows, mouth as dry as the Sahara Desert. God, she wants to kiss him. More than anything, she wants to kiss him. Wants to slide her arms around his waist and brush her nose against his, wants to map the line of his jaw with her lips and breathe him in. 

But she can’t. That’s not who they are to each other. 

(they’re not even _friends)_

“I—I don’t—good night,” she chokes out, instead, unable to answer him truthfully. 

She flees, then, into the safety of her house, unable to shake the feeling that this is her running away from him again—but just a little different.

* * *

_It is raining._

_It is raining, and she is still waiting for him. She has been waiting for him, waiting for him to show up for the past thirty minutes._

_He has never even been late before, and now the curtain is about to drop and she is not sure if he will show up or not and everything everything everything hurts._

_It is raining when she starts playing, and throughout all of it, he is not there._

_It is raining when she is done._

_(is she done? or is he?)_

_She cannot forgive him, and so when he shows up to school the next day, she cannot be blamed for what happens._

_“Devi,” he says, after school._

_She cannot look at him._

_“Devi,” he tries again, and because she has never been able to refuse him anything—not really, she turns around._

_“Ben,” she bites out._

_His eyes lock with hers and it takes everything in her to not break, not to melt and forgive him right then and there._

_(her fucking kryptonite, and perhaps that is what angers her the most about it. that she will crumble for him so easily, and he will not do the same for her)_

_“Devi, I’m—I’m sorry,” he breathes, running a hand through his hair._

_The seed in her stomach grows stronger, vines wrapping around her heart and squeezing tight. She can’t breathe, she’s sure of it, and now she doesn’t know what she’s feeling._

_So, Devi latches onto the one thing she knows, the one thing that is easy: anger._

_“A sorry doesn’t fucking cut it, Ben,” she snaps, more venom in her voice than she has ever had with him._

_He’s shocked, shocked by the anger, and she focuses on it, focuses on that rather than the hurt. The hurt is too hard to think about. “Sorry? That’s—that’s all you have to say?” she says again._

_She blinks back tears, and she can—she can’t ever imagine being weak with Ben like she was with him before. Being so raw._

_“You could have just come out and said it, you know,” she seethes._

_“Said—said what?” he whispers, as if he might speak too loudly and shatter whatever is happening between them._

_(whatever is happening between them is already broken)_

_“Said you were done with this. With us,” she spits out._

_“Devi, I—”_

_“I’m fucking done with you, Ben,” she says. Ignores how the pain flickering over his face lances at her heart, sharp and poignant and deep. “Fucking hell, I’m done with us.”_

_“Done with us?”_

_“I don’t want to be your friend,” she snaps. “Forget it.”_

_Pain flashes in his eyes before a spark of anger ignites, and somehow, it is a little easier to handle._

_(making ben angry is easier than hurting him, because when he hurts, so does she)_

_“Forget it? So you just want me to forget about the past eight years?” he snaps._

_“It sure seems like you want to,” Devi argues back._

_“Devi, fucking listen to me!” he yells._

_“No!” she yells back. “I don’t want you to lie to me! Don’t pretend you want me around.”_

_“Of course I want you around!” he insists, and she cannot believe Ben would lie to her, but that is what he is doing right now. “You’re my best friend!”_

_“Bullshit,” she spits. “Don’t lie.”_

_“Lie,” he says, slow, anger building up behind his tone like a tidal wave, growing in strength as it crosses the ocean. “About?”_

_“Being your best friend.”_

_“You think I would lie to you about something like that?” His face hardens. “Do you even really know me?”_

_“I know you better than anyone,” she hisses. “Which is why I know you’re full of shit.”_

_“Devi, if you would just—”_

_She doesn’t want platitudes, doesn’t want him to pretend he wants her around. She is leaving him._

_(she is leaving_ them)

_“Don’t be a coward, Ben,” she says, and then she is turning around and walking away._

_(don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look back)_

_She does, but only to say this. “We’re done.”_

_And then Devi runs, and steels herself for the pain._

_Running away from Ben will have to be the norm, now._

* * *

She and Ben are about to head out to yet another party—and here, she tries not to let her face flush with the memory of what had happened at the last one—when the door to his house opens. 

And then, his parents walk through. 

Devi stops cold in her tracks, mouth dropping open. She—she doesn’t really _know_ Ben’s parents. In fact, she thinks it’s like, her sixth time seeing them. 

“Hey, honey!” Ben’s mom says, face brightening. She leans over and presses her lips to Ben’s head for a moment. “Where are you off to?” 

“Oh,” Devi says, shaking her head. “We don’t—we can cancel, Ben,” she says, looking over at him. “I’m sure you want to spend time with your parents.” 

Ben’s father squints at her, tilting his head. He’s the same round man that Devi remembers, faintly, despite having a few more lines around his face, a bit more grey peppered in his hair. “You look familiar,” he says. And then, he snaps his fingers. “You’re that—that girl, aren’t you?” 

“Uh, my name is Devi,” she says. “And—” she hesitates, glancing over at Ben. 

_Never talk about the past._

“Yeah,” she says. “Ben and I have been friends since we were little.” 

She doesn’t miss the way Ben winces as the words slip out from her mouth, present tense. 

(she’s never really been able to make things past tense with him, never really been able to push him into memories. he blurs the edge from memory and real life, bleeding over, crossing all of the lines, and she doesn’t know what to make of that)

“I remember you,” his mother says, smiling at her, just a little too wide. “And—are you two dating now?” 

Ben nods stiffly. “Yeah, Mom. Devi and I were just about to head to a party.” 

“Well, don’t let us keep you!” she chirps brightly, stepping back. “Go have fun!” 

“Wait,” Devi says, stepping forward. “You—you don’t want to spend some time together?” 

“Devi,” Ben growls, voice low, “just leave it.” 

Ben’s parents look at her, back and forth, brows furrowed. “Well, you two are kids. You deserve to have some fun!” 

“But, you haven’t been here the whole _week,”_ Devi says, stressing. She doesn’t know why she cares about this so much. She knows Ben’s parents are flaky, that they are constantly leaving him behind, but somehow watching it happen in front of her hurts more than she thought possible. 

Leaving Ben behind was one of the toughest things she’s ever had to do, and now that she has him back, she knows she can’t do it again. Can’t fathom how they find it so easy to turn away from him each and every time.

“Ben doesn’t want us around,” his mom laughs. “I’m sure he’d rather spend time with you.” 

“But he’s your _son.”_

“Devi,” Ben snaps. She turns around to see him, looking madder than she’s ever seen him, jaw clenched tight. “Drop it.” 

“Anyways, Ben,” his father says, carefully, clearly noticing the tension between them. “We’re going to go to bed, ok? We’ll see you in the morning. Or—I will. Your mother has an early flight to Java for some meditative retreat.” 

Devi watches in stunned shock as Ben’s mother drops a kiss on his cheek and clacks up the stairs in her stiletto heels, as his father retreats down the hallway, before she turns her attention back to Ben. 

She can’t see his face, but the line of his shoulders is tight, and she steps forward. “Ben?” 

He ignores her, turning away and shoving through the back doors to the pool. 

She stands there, watching as he disappears into the night, her stomach swirling. 

What—what had she said? What was so wrong? 

Why the fuck is he shutting her out again? 

(for a second the temptation to run is overwhelming, just as sharp as it had been in eighth grade, when she let it control her life, but she can’t—can’t lose ben like this again. she doesn’t know if she can survive the blast zone) 

So Devi squares her jaw and shoves through the doors, finding Ben sitting on the edge of his pool, feet dangling in the water. She stomps over and flops down. “What the hell was that?” she snaps. 

“What?” Ben says, tiredly. 

“Why did you tell me to drop it, asshole? I was trying to be nice to you.” She crosses her arms, so unspeakably angry she can’t think of anything else. 

“Because, Devi,” he murmurs, and she has never heard his voice so defeated, so without fight. 

(a ben without fight is not a ben she is used to. he has always sparred with her, been her equal in that way. he has never given her an inch, never given her a little bit of leeway, has spent hours with her arguing on the most inane of things, but now, hearing him, so tired, so _done,_ it punches her in the gut, sets off all of her landmines)

“There’s just no point in fighting them on this.” 

Devi is about to snap at him before she catches the look on his face. “What?” 

Ben shakes his head. “They’ve left for as long as I can remember, Devi,” he says. “And—and there’s no point in fighting them on it.” 

“You say that like you’ve done it before.”

Ben closes his eyes. “I have.” 

Suddenly, Devi has the feeling she is about to be told something life-changing, like the same way Brutus had when he plotted the murder of Caesar, like Paul Revere before the British came, something that will shift her life. 

“I have fought with them on it before. And I have gotten them to stay.” Ben pauses, runs his tongue over his lips. “But they have never stayed because of choice. No one ever has, really. Patty stays because she feels bad for me. And I love her, I do, but it’s not really her choice. No one really _chose_ me.” Ben looks up at her. 

“You were the first person who had.” 

It is like someone has taken a crowbar to her soul and cracked it open, and now she pulses, raw and open and wounded, at the sheer pain in his voice. 

What—what do you even say to that? She thinks she might be crushed under the weight of this knowledge. 

(atlas has nothing on her. she holds the weight of her sins on her shoulders, and that is far heavier than the world) 

She does not know, really, how to broach this, so she says what she can. 

“Sorry for leaving you alone.” 

Devi winces as soon as the words leave her mouth. Even _she_ knows that apology sucks, like, really, horribly sucks, but she’s not sure what else to say. 

Ben’s head whips up, and in the darkness of the night, in the glow of the pool, his eyes seem so impossibly, luminously, heart-stoppingly blue she feels like the air has been torn out of her lungs, violently. 

He blinks, and the stone mask covering his face—where is the Ben whose face split into a smile whenever he saw her? Where is the Ben who’d shown her everything, who’d worn his heart on his sleeve when it came to her? She doesn’t want to confront the reality that she lost the right to that Ben a long time ago—doesn’t slip, not even for a split second. 

Ben clears his throat, turns away from her. He pushes his legs out in front of them, danging them in the water of the pool. “That’s all you have to say?” he bites out. 

He tries to be cool, but learning to read Ben was like riding a bike—something she never forgot. There had been a time when he’d known her better than anyone else, except for her father, and she knows that had been mutual. 

(how was she able to shut their past, and put it on the shelf? how was she able to tuck it away, to leave it to gather dust, to never open it back up again, when it used to be her favorite thing to read? how?) 

Devi scores her eyes over his face, lingering on the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw, the way his hands tremble, almost singularly, and far apart, so she barely picks up on the pattern. He’s upset. 

She clenches her own jaw. “Frankly, I don’t give a fuck if you believe me, Ben,” she snaps out. Her control when it comes to Ben is fraying, tearing apart at the seams. “I _am_ sorry.” 

Ben sucks in a breath, and his eyes flutter. She lingers, looks at his eyelashes, made stark against the light of the pool. “Not as sorry as I am for never going up to you at your dad’s funeral.” 

Scientifically, Devi knows reaching absolute zero in the backyard of Ben’s house, sitting on the edge of his pool, is not possible, she knows that it cannot happen. 

But that is what his words have done to her, have pushed her into absolute zero. She cannot breathe, and every single molecule in the air has frozen, has stopped moving. She does not feel cold, but as though every single inch of her has been stopped, even her heart. There is no motion to be found. 

Devi stares at him, until she feels an ache in her jaw, and she realizes she has been clenching it, the muscles in her jaw aching from holding herself so tense, so tight. 

(she does not know how to relax) 

“You were there?” 

It could be two minutes later, it could be two hours later, she no longer has a sense of time, but she cannot pull her eyes away from him, not for anything. A bomb could detonate, and she would still be here, the wreckage around her, staring at him. 

She hates how her voice shakes, how wrecked it sounds, so she clears her throat and tries to make herself sound stronger. “You were there?” 

Ben looks at her, and absolute zero thaws a little. Her heart restarts, racing in her chest, blood pumping. His eyes on hers are like the surface of a blue star, crackling, vibrant, bleeding with energy and life. “Yes.” 

It is the admission that warms her, but it is violent. 

(his voice is like a volcano, and suddenly, she is being cruelly ripped out of absolute zero and forced to face the heat of lava, forced to face the violence of an eruption) 

It is a stupid question, but she asks it anyways. “Why?” 

Ben pulls his eyes from her and looks down at his hands. They shake, no longer imperceptibly, but violently. “Because I needed to. I needed to say goodbye.” 

(to who?) 

Her heart feels like it is about to pound out of her chest, feels ripped and raw and frayed at the seams, like someone had reached in and cruelly pulled it out, leaving her chest cavity open. “Oh.” 

“You weren’t the only one who lost him, Devi,” Ben says quietly, his knuckles pulsing fiercely white, almost glowing in the light of the pool. 

He looks—washed out, sallow, sunken and tired, and she has never seen Ben like this, the kind of bone deep exhaustion seeping from him that you cannot get rid of, the kind of bone deep exhaustion that nothing, really, can cure. 

And his words are true, but in a way they feel needlessly cruel. “I know that,” she says, bristling. 

He is not looking at her, but his lips dip, and a frown mars his face. “Your dad was always nicer to me than my own dad was,” he says. “And I liked that he always carried around mints for everyone. I lost him, not as much as you did, but I did.” 

This, Devi, thinks, is real, sharp pain. Because whenever she thinks of her father, it is always the worst pain she has ever felt in her life, it is always so heartbreaking she does not know if she will ever resurface from drowning in her grief. Sometimes she breaks the surface, but there are days when the riptide drags her back under. 

Right now, listening to him, she feels like she is trapped in a whirlpool. “The mints? You—you remember?” 

“I remember a lot about your father. The way he loved sweaters and smelled like apples and—” 

Devi holds up her hands. “Please stop,” she whispers. 

(memories of coming home from that, that day, that fight, her father taking one look at her and folding her into his arms, of shooting her sad looks whenever her mother pressed her on why she never mentioned ben anymore, the way she would always find the two of them talking, even, even _after,_ the smell of apples and the way he knew everything about her before she said it, it’s just too much) 

To hear Ben talk about her father and the pain of loss, in two very different ways, is something she cannot handle. Like water in the palm of her hand, she does not know how to hold it.

Devi whirls around to face him. “Why didn’t you say anything?” she says. 

She is not angry—or maybe she is. Right now, Devi feels her emotions being twisted like one twists a kaleidoscope, rolling over one another, spilling, and blurring together, and anger is there, but pain, god, real, horrible pain is there too. 

“Why did you just—stay away?” Devi looks away from him, and the rough concrete of his pool scrapes her palms painfully, but she doesn’t even notice. “Why didn’t you talk to me then?”

Devi bites back the words she cannot say. _I needed you._

(devi cannot count the nights she sat on her bed, wrapped in a black cardigan, wishing that ben were there to hold her, to help her through this grief, just a little bit) 

For the first time all night, Ben looks at her, and sadness spills over his face. He smiles, and it’s so at odds it makes her heart ache. He is beautiful in the way crushed flowers and burning embers are, beautiful even in the midst of tragedy. “Would you have listened to me if I tried?” 

She opens her mouth to say _yes, of course I would have,_ but she can’t, all of a sudden, can’t lie to him like that.

Because here is the truth: the truth is that she does not _know._ She does not know if she would have listened to Ben, if he had shown up. She does not know what she would have done, and that, perhaps, is the hardest thing of all. To swallow the reality that she will forever have to live without knowing. 

“I—” she stammers out. 

“I know you wouldn’t have, Devi,” he says, laughing, and it’s brittle and cold, and sends shivers down her spine in a very different way than his mouth pressed to her does. She wonders how Ben can call such extreme reactions out of her. He makes her more furious than anyone else in the world, he makes her laugh harder than anyone else in the world. 

He makes her—he makes her _more._ Devi is whole by herself, but Ben makes her spill over. 

Her hackles raise, like a cat whose fur has been pet the wrong way. What fucking _right_ does he have, to—to judge her, like this? What _right_ does he have to be so cruel and callous about them? To blame her? She’s not to blame for them.

(all she did was run before he could. she saw the warning signs of the natural disaster, and she took off. she wasn’t going to let him leave her, and pick up the pieces of herself, so she left him) 

“Fuck you, Ben,” she seethes. “What right do you have to—to say that?” 

Ben’s jaw clenches, and he looks at her, and the sheer amount of raw emotions swimming in his eyes shocks her, but she focuses on the one she can best handle—anger. “What right? Devi, you were the one who said you wanted to stop being friends.” 

Her heart twists in her chest, but she shoves that down and focuses on the anger, rising up like a tsunami wave, threatening to overwhelm her. 

(this is another kind of riptide entirely) 

“Because you—you fucking—you didn’t want to be friends, Ben! So I don’t get why the fuck you’re mad at me. You have _no_ right.” 

Devi is heaving, breathing heavily, prepared for Ben to shout back at her, but instead he just freezes, his gaze flickering over to her, and then back away, and then to her again, like a candle in the wind. 

“Devi,” he says, and when he speaks, his voice is nothing more than a small, broken whisper. “What the _hell_ are you talking about?” 

“Eighth grade, Ben,” she bites out. Watches, takes no pleasure in the way he flinches back at the sheer venom in her voice. “Eighth fucking grade. You pulled away. You didn’t have the—fucking balls to tell me that you didn’t want to be my friend. So you took the coward’s way out and started ignoring me.” 

She scoffs, tosses her hair behind her shoulder. “So I made the decision to say goodbye. I mean, if you didn’t want to be my friend, I wasn’t just going to stick around and wait for you to leave. I’m not _pathetic.”_

Devi turns to face him then, carefully settling her features into a stone mask, but the look on Ben’s face causes her mask to slip. It’s not chagrined, or guilty, or sheepish, like she’d thought. 

Instead, shock spills over his face, and his eyes are wide, staring at her. Damn his—fucking blue eyes. He can’t hide anything from her, and she knows exactly how to read them. And it startles her. 

“What?” he rasps. 

“That—that’s what happened,” she says, although she is less sure of that than before. 

(and she hates how unsure she sounds, because devi has not been unsure of many things of her life, deals in certainties and facts, but this, right now, is an area awash with grey, and she has no fucking clue how to handle it. how to handle him) 

“Devi,” Ben says, and his voice is like shards of glass on her soul. Cutting and transparent. “I never wanted to stop being your friend.” 

She blinks. And then blinks again. 

_“What?”_

Ben runs his hand over his face, suddenly looking so much older than his seventeen years, and then suddenly, he looks just like the boy she left behind in eighth grade, the boy who broke her heart. 

(she hadn’t even know a heart could break like that until he’d shattered it) 

“I don’t where you got the idea that—” 

“Where I got the idea, Ben!” she screeches. “How—how about everything you did for two solid months?” 

Devi holds up her hand. “You—you sat with another girl for a whole _week,_ and I didn’t push you on it because I thought it was something I did, but then you were back and you never mentioned it and you—you didn’t talk to me in classes for a few days a few weeks later and then—” she takes in a shuddering, deep breathe, saying, the most painful thing, the thing she hasn’t been able to forget. “You missed my fall concert. You had never even been _late_ before.” Even the fucking _memory_ brings tears to her eyes, and she can’t—she can’t do this. 

She pushes herself up, but before she can get very far, Ben’s hand shoots out, wraps around her wrist and tugs her back down. “Devi,” he says. “Please listen to me?” 

She turns to him to say no, but she never can. Not really, not when it comes to Ben. 

She swallows roughly. “What?” 

“I never wanted to stop being your friend,” he murmurs. “Devi, everything that happened, it wasn’t _anything_ to do with you.” He releases her wrist, and her skin burns, from his touch, or from the fact that he’s let go, she doesn’t know. Ben runs a hand through his hair, laughing bitterly. “I sat with Cathy because we were partners for a project in chemistry. The one on acids and bases, do you remember that?” 

Faintly, she nods. 

(dread coils up in her stomach, hot and potent and terrifying) 

“And I didn’t talk to you because—” he heaves a breath, strong, and shaking, all at the same time, “I didn’t talk to you because my parents had promised to be home by my birthday, and they weren’t. And it’s so fucking dumb to have wanted them to be, but I did.” He scoffs. “God, I was such a fucking _idiot._ I still am.” 

“Ben,” she murmurs. “No.” 

He continues on as if she hasn’t spoken. “And—and missing your concert.” He swallows, roughly.

“Please,” she begs. “Please look at me.” 

Ben drags his eyes away from the pool, as if it physically pains him to do so. “Ben,” she whispers. “Tell me the truth.” 

“Missing your concert was an accident, Devi,” he says. “God, I—I never meant to, you _have_ to know that.” 

She does. Because now that she thinks about it, she can’t believe she ever doubted him. Doubted Ben. 

“Then why weren’t you there?” 

Ben chews his lip. “Because,” he whispers. “Because I came home to find my parents screaming at each other like they never had before. My—my mom was furious, I think she threw like, three things at my dad, and he wasn’t even doing anything.” 

Her blood runs cold. “What happened?” 

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Nothing. They were just fighting about some stupid fucking gala they were going to be hosting. My mother was upset because my father fought her on some of the choices for the fucking decorations. The decorations.” Ben clenches his jaw. “I didn’t know what the hell they were fighting about when I walked in, I just tried not to get them to kill each other. I don’t even know why I bothered. The next morning, they were normal, running off to some fucking retreat or one another. And I lost you over it. Over some goddamn decorations.” 

“No,” she breathes. 

Ben is silent, kicking his foot up, sending a spray of water arcing through the air. “Yes.” 

“Oh, god.” 

(the dread is overwhelming, sharp and bitter in the back of her throat, like bile, and she thinks she might throw up) 

“Oh, god,” she moans. “Ben, I’m so sorry.” 

His mouth twists, and he looks at her. “Sorry?” 

Devi reaches out, hesitating, before she places her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it tightly. “I’m so sorry I left you alone. That I thought you didn’t want to be friends.” 

Ben shrugs. “We can’t do anything about it. It’s gone and done.” 

At this, the pain starts, and she can’t help it, choking back a sob. 

She fails, and Ben turns to her instantly, worry written all over his face. “Devi? What’s wrong?”

“Oh my god,” Devi says, burying her face in her hands. “All of that _time.”_

(her first kiss, the first day of high school, her first high school party, all of these firsts she was supposed to have with him. what would have happened if she hadn’t been so rash? would some—something have happened between them? would he have held her like she longed on the cold nights after her father died? would he have cried with her, would he have smiled and laughed and joked with her? would his kisses be _real?)_

Devi feels it threaten to overwhelm her, all of the lost years between her and Ben, and the regret is so sharp and steep it feels like she has been body slammed by a tsunami, caught in the undercurrent of the waves and sucked out to sea, where she will drown. The logical, rational part of Devi knows there is no point in dwelling on the past, on events that are done and gone and dead, on things she cannot change, but she cannot help it. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, into her hands. She can’t look at him. 

She sucks in a breath in a futile attempt to stem her tears. Fuck, what has she _done?_

She destroyed eight years of friendship just because—because she thought he didn’t want to be her friend, when it was _she_ who broke them. Who broke her own heart. “I should have let you talk.” 

And then Devi feels something she has not felt in three years: Ben’s arms, wrapping around her, pulling her close. 

And because she has denied herself this for three years, because she has not let herself breathe him in, she simply cannot anymore, and she buries her face in his shoulder. 

Sandalwood, except this time, it does not pull at her heart, but soothes its ache instead. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Shh,” Ben soothes, as though she is a child. He runs his hand down her hair, pulling her impossibly closer. “It’s my fault too. I shouldn’t have just let you go so easily. I should have fought for you.” 

“Can—can you forgive me?” she asks, into his chest, too weak, too shaky, to look him in the eyes. 

Ben breathes out, slowly. “Only if you can forgive me.” 

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she murmurs, drawing back, but she can’t bear to pull herself away from him too far. 

Ben’s thumb smoothes over her cheek, wiping her tears away, and she realizes he is cupping her jaw, tender and gentle and god, it makes her heart twist in her chest. 

(he has not looked at her like this in three years, with such naked care and affection in his gaze, such adoration, and he only looks at her like this. she has never seen him look at anyone else so gently, and god, she never wants him to again. but she cannot think of a time when she has been more undeserving of his gaze) 

“Please, Devi. Forgive me?” 

Devi breathes, and nods. “O—ok,” she whispers. “I forgive you.” 

Ben smoothes her hair back, and then he leans forward, his eyes fluttering, and for a brief, insane moment, Devi thinks he might kiss her. 

He doesn’t, just presses his forehead against hers, and suddenly, she is so relieved. Because she does not know what she would do if he tried to kiss her, but she knows what to do now. Stop. Slow down. And breathe him in. “I forgive you,” he murmurs. 

And the weight of the world lifts off of her shoulders. 

She does not know how long they sit there, touching foreheads, but when Ben finally pulls away—(she will never again pull away from him first, never again)—Devi feels as though the ground underneath them has shifted slightly, has given way. 

Or maybe they are simply back on the even ground of their friendship, after careening on the sliding slope of heartbreak. 

“We’re both a little too stubborn for our own good, huh?” he asks, a smirk curling up at the edge of his lips. 

Devi can’t help herself, throwing her head back and laughing. “That is the one thing I will agree with you on, Gross.” She can’t help herself, reaching up and scoring her fingertips under his eyes, watching as they darken. “I think,” she murmurs, “that it is the one place in which you are my equal.” 

Ben laughs then, bright and unrestrained and free, and something in her chest snaps. 

(the red string)

“I beat you everywhere else,” he jokes, shifting so he can sling his arm over her shoulder, tucking her into his side like he used to. 

She still fits, still remembers exactly how to rest her head on his shoulder, how to slot her hip into his, thighs pressed against one another. She was never meant to leave. She knows that now. “Keep dreaming, Gross.” 

Ben turns his head, dropping a kiss on her hairline. “This is a pretty good one, then.” 

* * *

_“Ben,” Devi says._

_“Hmm?”_

_“How long have we been friends now?”_

_Ben looks over at her and pouts, thinking a bit. His tongue pokes out of his mouth a little. “Uh, four years?”_

_Devi counts on her fingers. “Four years? We’re nine, so…yeah, you’re right! Four whole years! Wow.”_

_“That’s a long time,” he says, nodding seriously._

_“Yeah.”_

_They fall silent then, and Devi tugs on her braids, unsure whether or not she can say what she wants to._

_But this is_ Ben. _She’s always been able to talk to him._

_“Do you think we’re gonna be friends forever?” she says, her voice small and quiet, like she’s a baby._

_Ben frowns, looking at her. His eyes match his shirt, and they seem bluer than usual. Like, really, really blue, like her favorite crayon color. “Forever is a long time.”_

_Devi blinks, trying not to feel too hurt. “Oh. Ok.”_

_“But,” he says, continuing as though she hasn’t spoken, “it sounds cool.”_

_A spark of hope ignites in Devi’s chest. She_ likes _being friends with Ben, likes the funny jokes he tells and the way his smile always makes everything better. “Really?”_

_Ben nods. “Really. I mean like, I know it’s a long time, but I always feel like we never get enough time to play together, so forever sounds good.”_

_She smiles back at him, perhaps a little too wide, but she can’t help it. She’s never felt this happy before, like her entire chest is warm and full of colors, like the sunset. “Forever sounds good,” she repeats._

* * *

She falls back into friendship with Ben the way one does their bed after a long, tiring day, habitually, naturally, instinctively. 

It’s so easy to be his friend again, so easy to joke with him, and laugh with him, and tease him, almost like no time has lapsed at all. It’s like they never lost their friendship, like he’s been at her side all along.

(and perhaps he always was, because the thing about ben was that he lingered—almost the same way perfume or cologne does on an article of clothing—in her memories, in her thoughts, _everywhere,_ no matter how much she tried to push him down or wash him out. devi realizes he doesn’t linger anymore though, because he doesn’t have to, he’s right here, with her)

Maybe that’s why Devi is where she is right now, tucked into Ben’s side sitting on the couch as they watch a movie together. His arm is stretched over the couch and his fingers are playing with a few strands of her hair. It’s comforting, domestic, _intimate,_ and Devi wonders if he even realizes he’s doing it.

“That wouldn’t work like that,” she mutters as she watches the movie play out on screen.

Ben glances at her in slight confusion. “What?”

“Inheritance patterns aren’t that cut and dry, just because her parents have the trait, doesn’t mean she’ll have or express it.”

Ben snorts. “Of course that’s what you’re thinking right now.”

“Well, duh,” Devi retorts. “Someone has to correct all these scientific inaccuracies.”

Ben quirks an eyebrow. “And that someone has to be you?”

Devi smacks him over the head. “Duh.”

Ben laughs, bright and clear and blissfully joyful, and there’s nothing she’s missed more than being so easily able to coax laughter out of him by just being her unapologetic self. “You really haven’t changed,” he murmurs, continuing to play with a loose strand of her hair. 

“Nope,” Devi replies, flashing him a grin. “I’m awesome, why would I?”

She waits for a familiar quip from him about how she’s not that great or how he’s obviously the superior one in their friendship, but it never comes. Instead, his words take her by surprise. “Yeah,” Ben agrees, his gaze on her suddenly turning heavy with meaning. “You are.”

She feels her breath hitch, but doesn’t have a terribly long time to focus on the thought before Ben speaks again. “What if the trait is dominant?”

Devi blinks at him a few times. “What?”

“That would mean she’d have to express it, right?” Ben smirks and only then does she realize he’s playing along. Debating with her is rather… performative in this instance, she knows that he knows she’s right, but he did the same thing all the time when they were little kids. Her heart twinges with nostalgia.

(and maybe something more?)

“Definitely not,” Devi says, shaking her head.

“Definitely not?” Ben repeats, injecting faux confusion into his tone. She knows he already knows exactly what she’s about to explain to him, but she appreciates the effort.

“Well, there are lots of examples where carrying the dominant allele for a trait doesn’t guarantee expression. There’s sex limited traits—which is when both sexes carry alleles but either express or don’t express the trait based on hormonal profiles—sex influencing traits—”

Ben cuts her off. “Which is when both sexes carry alleles, but express a trait differently like the bearded goats example, yes I remember, Devi.”

Devi scowls, but it’s a pretense, she never likes being interrupted, but for some reason when it comes to Ben she’s always been happy to blur all the lines. “There’s variable expressivity—which is when the same alleles are expressed differently in a pedigree— epistasis—where gene interaction at two different loci modifies expected ratios—and...” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Incomplete penetrance.”

“Hmm,” Ben hums. “There’s a innuendo waiting to be made there.”

“Don’t you dare,” she shoots back, narrowing her eyes.

“David,” he protests. “You literally wiggled your eyebrows suggestively.”

Devi crosses her arms and glares, dark and angry. “And?”

“Oh, you’re allowed to joke about it and I’m not?”

Devi scoffs. “Obviously.”

“And why is that?”

“Simple,” Devi says, smirking and reaching up to pat his shoulder condescendingly. “You’re a guy.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Ben pouts, sticking out his lower lip.

Devi doesn’t dignify that with a verbal response, she simply sticks out her tongue.

Ben lets out a long sigh, and she can tell he’s about to give in. “Fine, I won’t,” he says, “but only cause I know you’d beat the crap out of me if I did.”

Devi smirks. “You got that right.”

Ben laughs again, this honest, _earnest_ sound that makes her feel warm. Warm like she’s basking in the sun, being steadily filled with a certain soul deep contentment. And she can’t help it—she knows this impulse is going to end up biting her in the ass, but she can’t stop herself—she leans forward and muffles the sound of his laughter with her lips.

Ben is stiff against her for the first moment, and Devi fears she’s made the type of mistake she can’t come back from, that she’s gone and fucked up their friendship again.

But those thoughts disappear when his hands settle on her waist drawing her in closer as he begins to kiss her back.

And _oh._

Ben is kissing her.

She’s kissing him.

Not that it’s a novel occurrence, not at all, but there’s something about this that feels different.

(hope against hope, there’s something about this that feels almost… _real)_

The taste of spearmint on his tongue and the sandalwood of his cologne are as addictive as ever, completely captivating her senses. He’s just as wholly consuming as ever, an enticing, electric, gravitational pull that sucks her in like a whirlpool or a black hole. Except it’s neither of those things at all. Because whirlpools and black holes are dangerous, deadly forces, and Ben is everything but. Instead, she likens kissing him is more like watching flames dancing in a fireplace, equally captivating, equally intoxicating, but also completely blissful and calming.

She threads her hands through his hair, trying to tug him even closer, but as close as they are now, Devi is certain he’ll never be close enough.

(even if she could break every law of quantum mechanics and press her atoms against his—intertwine herself with him subatomically—ben would never be close enough)

He tilts his head, kissing her a bit harder, and Devi clutches him even tighter, thankful she’s not standing right now, because she knows her knees would have buckled and given in.

She slides one of her hands from his hair to curl around his neck, digging her thumb into his pulse point so she can feel the beat of his heart. She knows her heart is beating out his name, and likes to imagine that his heart is doing the same for her.

She doesn’t want to, but eventually, she needs to pull away, if only to breathe.

She finally wills herself to look him in the eyes, blue and aflame like a surface of a star.

He has to feel something for her, right? He just kissed her back, with intent, with meaning, with purpose. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t, especially because no one is here right now but them. There’s no one to convince, no charade to be played.

(well, that’s not entirely true, there is someone for him to convince. her)

She’s convinced he must feel something for her, and for some reason, the mere thought makes her feel a bit giddy, like she’s lighter than the air itself.

Ben laughs again, breaking her out of her thoughts, the same earnest sound as before, thumb reaching up to stroke her cheek. “You know,” he murmurs, thumb moving to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I personally thought we’d practiced enough, but it seems like you had other ideas.”

And just like that, something in Devi shatters.

(is it her heart? her heart, bursting into a million little pieces like a broken glass paperweight?)

It digs painfully into the left side of her chest. “Oh.”

God, she’s an idiot.

Of course he doesn’t feel anything for her, not after what she did all those years ago. How could he? As often as Devi likes to tease Ben for being an idiot, she knows he’s smart, incredibly smart, too smart to offer his heart to someone like her, someone who already broke it before.

(why does the thought of him never really wanting her, never truly giving her his heart, hurt so, so much?)

She knew all of this from the beginning, knew the touches, the kisses, the looks they shared weren’t real, could never be real, but god, she wants everything between them to be real more than ever.

And the realization of why strikes her with the same force his words did earlier, like a clash of thunder and a bolt of lighting, shattering a whole other part of her reality.

She has feelings for Ben.

Feelings, she realizes, is a rather vague way to put it. She thinks she might be in love with him.

(not thinks, is)

And the realization that she is, in love with him that is, explains so, so much. Why it hurt so much when she fought with him and lost their friendship, why she refused to let herself feel that pain at all, why he was the first person she turned to when she needed someone, why she knows she never would have done this at all if he hadn’t said yes.

Loving him is not something tentative or fleeting like the ink of a temporary tattoo, but something permanent and unchanging, branded into her, like the nucleotides of her DNA. 

(loving ben, is not something anomalous at all, in fact she thinks it’s always been there. rather than a foreign tilt or sway or change, something that knocks her off her axis, loving him is her steady state, her homeostatic equilibrium)

She ought to end this, this fake relationship of theirs—she’s sure realizing her actual feelings for him must be a violation of their contract—and she’s approximately two seconds from opening her mouth and breaking things off when she realizes she can’t.

She could never, she already lost Ben once, already left him behind, she’s never going to let herself do it again. If breaking this thing between them runs the risk of breaking _them_ , she won’t do it.

(because she knows breaking this off without telling him why—and she can’t tell him why—would break his trust once more) 

But she can’t do the alternative either. She knows she and Ben have never lied to one another, but being honest about this, telling him how she feels, is something she cannot do. Something she isn’t brave enough to do. 

(because if she tells him and she loses him again, she can’t even think about that, she can’t risk that)

Losing Ben is one of the worst things she’s endured, with exception to losing her father. And while she can’t ever bring her dad back, she seemingly did the impossible by bringing Ben back, and she’s not willing to do anything that could ever threaten that. Not again.

And so, if that means she never tells him, if that means they remain in this strange fake limbo forever, Devi is content with that. Because Ben is in her life, and is her friend again, and that is the most important thing.

“You okay?” Ben asks, pulling her out of her thoughts.

There’s something reassuring about the fact that when she’s drifting away, mind wandering endlessly, trapping in an infinite cycle of introspective confusion, Ben is the one who tethers her back to Earth, who grounds her.

“Yeah,” Devi answers, smiling at him. “I’m okay.”

It’s not entirely the truth, but it’s also not a lie.

He’s here, with her.

That’s what matters most.

She’s okay.

* * *

_“Hey there.”_

_She looks up from her coloring to see a boy standing in front of her. She thinks he’s in her class—but she can’t remember his name._

_“Hi?”_

_The boy clears his throat. “Um, hi.”_

_They stare at each other for another moment, and Devi kinda wants to run away. This feels like—like, really weird._

_“Um. I’m Ben. But you—you probably knew that. Cause like, we have the same class together.”_

_“Yeah. Totally,” Devi says, not letting herself admit she didn’t. “I’m Devi.”_

_“Not David?” he blurts out, and then slaps his hands over his mouth. “Oops.”_

_“David! That’s a_ boy’s _name!” she shrieks, crossing her arms. “What?”_

_“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles. “I just. I couldn’t hear your name really well when Ms. Foster said it and I didn’t think it sounded right and—”_

_“Oh,” she says, cutting him off. “Ok. That’s ok, I guess.”_

_Ben smiles at her, a little unsure. “Uh, I just wanted to tell you I liked your backpack,” he says, pointing to it. “I totally think that Sonic is cool.”_

_Devi glances at her backpack, a hand-me-down from an older cousin of hers, because according to her mommy, backpacks here were way too much money. “Oh, it’s not mine,” she says._

_Ben’s face falls. “Oh. Sorry for bothering you then.”_

_He turns to go away, and a flicker of panic rises up in Devi. She hasn’t met_ anyone _else all day, and she needs to make friends. It would be bad if she didn’t have any, even she knows that._

_“Wait!” she says. Ben stops, and turns back around, and she smiles at him, super wide, like her daddy said. That’s a good way to make friends. “Um, I dunno anything about Sonic, but maybe you can tell me?” she offers. “He seems kinda cool for a possum.”_

_“He’s not a possum!” Ben insists. “He’s a hedgehog!”_

_Devi giggles. “Ok, sure.”_

_He gives her a smile then, sitting down next to her. “Ok, I guess I can tell you.”_

_Devi bites her lip. “Before you do, Ben, I need to tell you something.”_

_His blue eyes widen, and he nods seriously. “I didn’t know your name before you introduced yourself,” she confesses. “I’m sorry I lied.”_

_Ben is quiet, and Devi is scared she’s lost a friend before she’s ever really made one, but then he shrugs. “Ok,” he says. “Not a big deal. We just won’t do it from now on, cause I don’t think friends should lie to each other.”_

_She smiles at him. “We’re friends?”_

_He blushes. “Yeah. I hope so.”_

_Devi nods. “Yeah. We’re friends. No lying.”_

_The answering smile he gives her is the best thing she has seen all day._

* * *

If there is one thing Devi is good at, it is living in the grey while pretending it is black and white. 

She did it when her father died, when she knew she had to move on from her grief but couldn’t find it in herself to do so. 

She did it when she lost Ben, when she knew she had to go back to him, but couldn’t get over her pride to do so. 

She even did it when she fought with her mother, when she nearly lost her. 

That is what she is doing with Ben. 

Because loving him like she does, so fiercely, like she’s never loved anyone else before, it’s grey. It’s messy and hard and the knowledge of her feelings is like a butterfly. The longer she holds onto it, the surer she is she will lose control. 

But she _can’t_ lose control. Because loving Ben is messy and grey, yes, but being friends with him, that is black and white. She can’t lose him again, can’t even entertain the mere thought. 

So, she doesn’t bring it up. Doesn’t mention the inevitable end of their fake relationship. Their friendship is so much more real, and so much more important anyways. 

But there are two of them here, and Devi has forgotten that just because she doesn’t talk about something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. 

So, in the end, it’s Ben who asks. 

It’s strange, because she’s lying on the floor of his bedroom on her stomach, humming a Jonas Brothers song to herself, feet kicking in the air as she draws graphs—god, she fucking _hates_ extrema—on her homework, when he speaks. 

“David?” 

Devi hums, focusing on the concavity of the graph she’s currently drawing, not even lifting her eyes from the paper to look at Ben. 

“David,” he says again. 

“Yeah, Ben?” 

Ben is sitting with his back pressed to his bed, and he clears his throat. “Devi.” 

At this, she looks up, throat going dry at the seriousness in his voice. A stone drops into the pit of her stomach, and all thoughts of slopes and derivatives fly from her mind as she locks eyes with him. 

(she’s never really stopped loving his eyes, but loving them now is like loving a warm blanket or hot chocolate, something you never know you missed until you have it once more) 

“What’s up, Gross?” she jokes, trying to lighten the mood. “Ready to finally admit I’m the superior of the two of us?” 

He doesn’t quip back, just drums his fingers on his thigh, and she wills herself not to let her eyes drift down to his hands, wills herself not to blush at the memory of his hand at her waist, gentle and strong and so fucking steady, all at the same time. 

She falls asleep to the memory of his touch, every night. 

“Ben?” she says, pushing herself up into a sitting position when he doesn’t answer. “What’s going on?” 

Ben sighs, heavy, as if he’s far older than his seventeen years, and looks away from her, pursing his lips. She follows his gaze, and notices the arrangement they made in fifth grade is still pinned up on his wall. It makes her lips pull up into a small smile, easing her ache for just a moment. 

The memory that he wasn’t over her just as much as she wasn’t over him helps, a lot, she thinks. 

“How long?” he murmurs. 

Devi’s brows furrow, and she tilts her head. “How long?” she repeats. What the hell?

His eyes flicker back to hers, ocean wages against cinnamon tree bark. “How long do you want us to keep this up?” 

“This?” 

“Us,” he says, gesturing between them. 

She feels all of the air leave her lungs as she _finally_ comprehends what he’s talking about. “Oh. Us.” 

(because they’re, they’re an _us_ now, in a way they haven’t been an us in _years._ it’s like slipping on an old sweater, slipping back into friendship with ben. she’s forgotten how warm it makes her feel, but now that it is encircling her again, she cannot ever imagine feeling the cold wind brush against her skin once more) 

“Yeah, David,” Ben mutters. The corner of his mouth quirks up into a smile. “We never really—put an expiration date on this.” 

And she doesn’t want to. 

The realization nearly bowls her over. 

She doesn’t _want_ to give this up. She doesn’t think she _can._ Not now that she knows exactly the way Ben likes to tilt his head when he wants to kiss her harder, not when she knows he still hates tomatoes and keeps their agreement pinned up on his wall, not when she knows he is the same boy who lives in some of her earliest, happiest memories, not when she knows she is completely, head over heels in love with him. 

It’s honestly just her luck that she has _literally_ no filter whatsoever.

“I don’t want to,” she blurts out, and then gasps, slapping her hands over her mouth, a little horrified she just said that. 

Ben’s eyes widen, and his mouth parts, and she’s overcome with the urge to kiss him, but keeps pressing her lips together, _tight._ “Wh—what?” he breathes. 

Devi stares at him, unmoving, but the words are there. She said them, and she can’t take them back. They hang in the air like heavy raindrops, like music does, lingering. 

(like _ben)_

She’s known him for eleven years.

(no lying) 

“I—” she stammers, finally letting her hands fall away from her face. “I was never hung up on Paxton,” she admits. 

Ben knits his brows, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “O—ok? Devi, what does that have to do with any—” 

“I was never hung up on him,” she interrupts, fingers digging into her thigh painfully hard to ground herself, “because I was always hung up on you.” 

She closes her eyes as soon as the words spill from her lips, a little scared to see his face. She can’t. She can’t. She can’t take the rejection. 

But there’s nothing but silence.

It must only be ten seconds, but she can’t take it anymore, and opens her eyes to see Ben just—staring at her, unblinking. “Ben?” 

He just keeps staring at her. 

Devi snaps her fingers in front of his face. “Benjamin!” 

Ben’s still face slips just the slightest bit. “Hung—hung up on me? How were you hung up on me?” 

Devi gives a bitter laugh. “I missed you,” she says. “You know that, but you don’t know how _much.”_ She trails her fingers along the seam of her jeans, needing to preoccupy her hands with something else. “God, Ben,” she rasps, voice sounding far more wrecked than she would like it to. “The way I missed you, it was fucking—fucking _awful.”_

His face crumples. “I’m sorry.” 

Devi shakes her head. “Don’t apologize. I was just—I was fucking wrecked, you know?” She lifts her eyes up to his, giving him an impossibly rueful smile. “Really upset, but I didn’t let anyone see it.” She laughs again, still bitter. “I barely let myself _feel_ it.” 

Ben reaches out, and she feels the whisper of his fingertips against the back of her hand. She reaches back out, curling her hand around his.

“I wasn’t as sad when I broke up with Paxton, even though I loved him, I really did,” she says. “He was my first love, and I’ll—I’ll always remember that, you know?” 

Ben nods, just letting her go on. 

“But I still wasn’t as sad, and I didn’t realize why it hurt so much for like, the longest fucking time.” Devi closes her eyes, swallows roughly, trying to breathe, to find the courage to say these words. She opens her eyes, finds the courage she needs in his eyes on hers. “It’s because I lost my best friend, and I lost the person I loved.” 

Ben’s whole body freezes, even the thumb rubbing soothing circles into the back of her hand. “What?” 

Devi swallows. “I—I didn’t know it back then, but I was in love with you. And then losing you broke my heart, not just because I loved you, but because I lost you as a friend. I think that hurt more than anything else.” 

“Oh.” 

Devi can’t help but laugh at the shock in his voice. “Yeah, oh.” She bites the inside of her cheek. “And—and now, this whole thing we’ve been doing, I think it just helped me realize I never really stopped loving you. Not even while I loved Paxton.” 

“You—you love me?” 

Devi clutches his hand a bit tighter. “Kind of, yeah,” she laughs. “More than kind of, really. I—um, I am. In love with you.” 

Ben blinks at her. _“Me?_ Really?” 

Jesus fucking christ, he can’t be _that_ dumb. 

Can he? 

(knowing ben, honestly, he probably can) 

Devi just stares at him. “No,” she deadpans. “The ghost of your cat.” 

“You’re telling me,” he says, ignoring her quip, “that you love me. Like, _me.”_

Bile rises up in the back of her throat. Does—does he not love her back? Is that why he doesn’t believe her? 

She blinks back tears. “You know, if you don’t feel the same way, you could just say so. You don’t have to act so dumb.” 

She moves to turn away, but Ben tugs her back by their hands, letting go quickly and then gripping her by her shoulders, eyes looking into her own with an intensity she thinks is only matched by starlight. “Devi,” he says, voice pitched low, almost more of a growl. “You love me?” 

“I asked you to be my fake boyfriend for a reason, Ben?” she snaps. “And then I went and fell for you and you clearly don’t even feel the same way because you haven’t sa—” 

He reaches for her and—

 _Oh, wow._

Because Ben is kissing her, not her lips, but her forehead, and his hands cup her cheeks so tenderly, like she’s something precious, his thumb pulling at her mouth, lips parted because she was still speaking, and god, she feels _treasured._

He pulls away from her, smoothing his thumb over the curve of her cheek. His eyes are soft and tender, and he looks at her like she is his Polaris. Like not even the eruption at Vesuvius, like not even the fall of Rome, like not even the sinking of the Titanic could pull his gaze from her. “You are,” he breathes, and she wonders how he can speak when she feels breathless, exhilarated, “so stupid sometimes.” 

Devi’s mouth drops open. “Um, what the fuck?” 

“David,” Ben smirks, his voice laced with so much affection it works on her like the sun does on winterfrost, melting her easily, _“of course_ I’m in love with you. Was there ever any question of that?” 

“Um, yes!” she shrieks. “There was so much question! Questions! However the fuck the grammar goes!” 

He laughs, bright and carefree, even as the joy that he feels the same way makes its way through her body like sunlit molasses. “Well, I knew you were obsessed with me. You _were_ the one who added the PDA to the contract.” 

“Shut up,” she grumbles, crossing her arms, and turning her head. He’s still cupping her face, though, so she can’t _really_ do that. “You definitely did not.” 

“Um, excuse me, which one of us asked the other to _fake date_ them?” 

“Which one of us _agreed?”_

“Ok, but the fact still stands that it was your idea,” he points out. 

“First of all, it was technically Eleanor’s, I just added the fake part. Secondly, now you’re just stating facts without any sort of claim to back them up,” Devi drawls. “Really, Gross, I expected your argument skills to be better than this.” 

Ben leans forward a bit, eyes dancing. “Think about me a lot, do you?” 

“Usually when you’re annoying me.” 

“You can admit you dream about me, David,” he says, an infuriating smirk on his face. “With a body like mine, how could you not?” 

She feels her cheeks flush, because she’s _not_ admitting to him she _has_ dreamed about him. The last thing the jackass needs is _another_ reason for his ego to be huge. “Please,” she scoffs, trying to keep her cool. “If it’s anyone who’s doing the dreaming, it’s you.” 

“Oh yeah. Tell me, what exactly am I dreaming about?” 

Devi smirks. “Standard stuff. You don’t exactly have the imagination for more.” 

“You’d be surprised.” 

“Ben.” 

“Yeah?” 

Devi leans closer to him, so close she can feel his breath puff against her lips. “If you don’t kiss me right fucking now, I’m leaving.” 

“Right,” he breathes, and then he presses his mouth against hers. 

It’s strange to say, but it feels like her first kiss all over again. It is shy and a little unsure and tentative, and so, so sweet she thinks she might faint. He still tastes like spearmint, and his lips are closed as they press against her mouth, and it’s chaste, and perfect. 

His lashes flutter against her cheek for a split second, and then he is pulling away to speak against her mouth. “I finally figured it out,” he murmurs. 

“Figured out what?” she whispers back. 

“What you owe me.” She feels him smile against her lips, and god, she wants him to kiss her while smiling more than anything in the world. “That, pretty much forever.” 

“Tall order, Gross.” 

“You’re brilliant,” he says. He drags her closer and kisses her again, this time a bit harder, making her head spin. “You can figure it out.” 

“It seems like a lot for a few months of fake dating.” 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “You got a real boyfriend and a real best friend out of it. I think my ask is pretty fair, don’t you?” 

Instead of answering, Devi just curls her hands in his shirt and tugs him closer, pressing her lips against his firmly. She never has to let go of him again. 

And yeah. She does.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find us on tumblr: 
> 
> [leila](https://montygreen.tumblr.com)   
>  [bhargavi](https://parkersedith.tumblr.com)


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